Music and glasses clinking sounded behind her.
“Apparently Sophie made some kind of mess in class.
Can you please handle it without turning this into another performance? I’m hosting the foundation committee tonight.”
“Where are you?”
“At Brookhaven Club.”
“Stay there.”
She paused.
“Excuse me?”
“Stay there.”
Adrian ended the call.
He asked Dr.
Morris whether Sophie would remain under observation for several hours.
When assured she would, he called his attorney, then Maria.
The housekeeper answered on the second ring.
“Mr.
Mercer?”
Her voice sounded nervous.
“Maria, I need the truth.
Has Sophie been eating?”
Silence.
Then Maria began crying.
“I tried, sir.”
Adrian closed his eyes.
“Tried what?”
“Mrs.
Mercer told me I was never to prepare food for Sophie unless she gave permission.
She said Sophie’s doctor had placed her on a restricted diet.
I thought it was strange.
When I questioned her, she threatened to fire me and report my immigration paperwork as invalid.”
Adrian’s jaw hardened.
Maria had permanent legal residency.
Adrian knew because his company attorneys had helped her with paperwork years earlier.
“Did you ever give Sophie food anyway?”
“Whenever I could.
Sandwiches.
Fruit.
Soup.
Then Mrs.
Mercer installed cameras in the kitchen.”
Adrian looked through the hospital window at Sophie.
“Cameras?”
“She said they were for security.
But she watched me.
Two weeks ago she caught me making Sophie eggs.
She sent me home for three days.”
Now Adrian understood why the notebook said not to tell Maria.
But he still did not understand why.
Neglect was terrible enough.
Deliberately restricting a child’s food required something darker.
He drove home with his attorney, Rachel Kim, meeting him at the property.
The mansion looked exactly as it always had.
Perfect hedges.
Polished stone.
Two luxury vehicles in the driveway.
Inside, the refrigerator was full.
Fresh salmon.
Cheese.
Vegetables.
Desserts.
Prepared meals labeled for Celeste.
Adrian opened the pantry.
It was overflowing.
Then Maria showed him the small refrigerator in the mudroom.
“This is what Mrs.
Mercer told Sophie was hers.”
Inside was bottled water, three bruised apples, mustard, and a container of spoiled yogurt.
Adrian stared at it.
Rachel photographed everything.
“Don’t touch anything else,” she advised.
“We document first.”
They reviewed the kitchen camera system.
Celeste had assumed Adrian never looked at household security footage.
She was right.
Until that afternoon.
The recordings showed Sophie entering the kitchen several times after school.
In one clip, she reached for bread.
Celeste appeared behind her, took the bag away, and pointed toward the stairs.
There was no audio, but Sophie’s posture told enough.
In another, Maria handed Sophie a bowl of soup.
Celeste entered minutes later, removed it, and dumped the contents into the sink.
Adrian turned away from the monitor.
Rachel looked disturbed.
“We need copies.”
“Take everything.”
Then Maria remembered something.
“There is also the blue cabinet in Mrs.
Mercer’s dressing room.”
Adrian frowned.
“What cabinet?”
Celeste’s dressing room occupied nearly five hundred square feet upstairs.
Behind designer shoes and handbags stood a locked storage cabinet.
Adrian did not force it open.
Rachel called a locksmith while documenting the process.
Inside they found folders.
One contained Sophie’s school reports.
Several letters from teachers asking to discuss Sophie’s fatigue had never reached Adrian.
Another folder contained invoices from a child talent agency.
Rachel
